Chapter Text
Las Vegas,
November 10:12 am
A ringtone went off somewhere in the glitzy hotel room they paid way too much for, the stray rays of sunlight that escaped through half shut drapes felt blinding on Joe’s barely open eyes. His head was pounding, and the ringtone that was going off was fucking irritating. He went to rub his face and was met with… a handful of feathers?
"What the hell?" Joe sat up baffled. A small army of Pomeranians were busy ripping apart a hotel pillow; their last victim already eviscerated to a mass of a thousand feathers spread out over the carpeting and himself.
"Hey! No, stop! Bad puppies! Uhhhh, Pete? Andy? Patrick? Gabe?" Joe called out as he found the culprit of the noise, his own phone, going off on the dresser across the room. The bright LED screen's caller ID reading 'Megan S.'. He mentally apologized as he pressed the decline button before stuffing the device into the jeans he was still wearing from last night. Later… he'll call her back later once he is in a less aggravated state of mind.
His throat felt completely dried out and devoid of moisture. This was the hangover from hell, to add to that his chest felt as if he had a killer sunburn. It was weird to wake up with the spins as if he was still drunk, an unfortunate phenomena he hadn't gone through since he was freshly 21. He ran into the bathroom to puke out whatever alcohol he still had in his stomach.
He'd never been so happy to barf. While the headache still sucked, he felt slightly better with the world spinning less intensely. Slightly.
As he splashed water in his face, took a couple of Tylenol pills, and swished mouthwash around, he played back the voicemail left by Patrick's sister on speaker.
"Hey Joe, it's Megan. I just wanted to make sure you guys were okay; Patrick isn't answering his phone. I also wanted to know what time you boys are making it back so we have everything on our end ready for the dinner rehearsal. So… yeah… one of you guys give me a call back— or have Pete text Hillary with an ETA. Have fun and see you all soon!"
Fuck. He was not ready for the road trip back to Napa, but they needed to start leaving now if they were going to be somewhat punctual to the dinner rehearsal. As he left to leave the bathroom he noticed a pair of gaudy purple sneakers peaking out from the corner of the giant tub.
Gabe Saporta was knocked out and sprawled at the bottom of the tub, couch pillow under his dark hair, sunglasses on, hand mid snack in a bag of Doritos.
"Gabe?"
Nothing.
"GABE."
"Hmmm?"
"Are you alright? It's late, we gotta clean the place up and hit the road. Come on."
“Ughhhh…. now?"
"Now. Get up, we need to move." Joe threw the bottle of Tylenol into Gabe's lap.
Gabe shook a couple pills from the bottle and stared at the little pills. "I thought Tylenol was bad to take for hangovers?"
"I'll take whatever it's going to get my ass feeling better and out the door."
Eventually Gabe groaned and lifted himself from the tub slowly while rubbing his face. "Yooooo last night must have been fucking epic. I don’t remember anything."
"That's what you're getting out of this?"
"Yeah dude it’s been a while since we’ve gone crazy like this, I felt young aga—"
Pete's voice rang out from a couple rooms over, "JOE? We are so screwed. We're going to get charged up the ass for all this! Patrick is going to kill us — ME— he’s going to kill me."
The living space was in worse shape than the bedroom he woke up in. By the looks of it, the Pomeranians ransacked this area first, as evidenced by the feathers that blanketed the floor. Someone must have had a food fight in the kitchenette. There were also, like, a handful of random people he'd never seen before sleeping in uncomfortable positions on the floor, other couches, and outside on the balcony. Speaking of the balcony, a giant purple snake was spray painted across the sliding door glass.
And there was Pete, sitting on the couch, head in his hands naked except for a pink boa around his neck and a speedo thing that read ‘Bride To Be!’ across the front; dollars were crumpled throughout the waist band.
"Well at least we’re all about to face Patrick's wrath,” Joe murmured as he walked in the living space. Pete startled and attempted to cover himself up before realizing it was just Joe, relaxing a little. “Put something on I don’t want to see all that.”
Pete cracked a smile. “You know you like it.”
“Save it for Patrick, you weirdo,” Joe laughed as he threw a stray shirt in his direction. Pete shortly found some jeans to pull on, complaining about a bruise he must have from falling on his ass at some point.
"Hmm, these aren’t mine." Pete pulled out a set of car keys that were not familiar to him hidden in one of the pockets, a key chain was attached with the words 'Catch Me If You Can' printed across.
“Huh— weird. We can take them to whatever lost and found is at the front desk, or ask one of these people.” Joe gestured to the sleeping occupants.
“If we get start cleaning and get ready, like, now, I think we can still leave on time. Jesus, I didn’t think we’d get this crazy. I don’t remember anything after we went to the pool; I must have blacked out.”
“Yeah same.”
Gabe sauntered in carrying three Pomeranian puppies, two more following at his heels, feathers clinging to their fur. “We got into some serious shit last night huh? Look! I found puppies!”
“What the hell… please don’t let Patrick see those or we’re going home with 5 children," Pete sighed. As he put them on the floor Pete noticed something shiny catch his eye. “What— GABE?" Pete grabbed his left hand where there was a slim gold band sitting on his ring finger.
Joe could help but to chuckle despite his throbbing headache. "Pete's the one who’s supposed to get married, not you. Oh shit, did YOU marry Patrick?"
"Patrick has better taste than that." Pete took off the wedding band wrapped around Gabe’s finger to get a better look. G+W was carved in pretty script on the inside. He sighed a small relief.
"Whatever man, I'm plenty of a catch. 'Marriage' isn’t my thing anyway." He felt his hands grow damp with moisture.
“Tell that to whoever ‘W’ is. Also— you know I would have legit killed you if you married Patrick,” Pete said as he gave back the ring.
"ME? Wouldn't some of the blame be on him?! Where is he anyway? And who is W?"
"I can't find him anywhere in here. He’s probably with Andy getting ready to come over that way we can head out. Which reminds me: we’re going to get chewed out for if we don’t get out shit together now." Joe walked back after completing a quick survey. As he went he kicked what he could under couches and picked up random bits of trash laying about.
There was a subtle 'beep' and the door before the handle jingled opened to reveal Andy sans Patrick. "Hey you crazy kids, nurse Andy is on the scene."
"Andy, what the fuck happened last night?" Asked Joe.
He passed out the Gatorades he carried in his hands. "Well… we went to the show, you guys were knocking drinks back, I drove us back, then you all insisted on keeping the night going and left for the pool."
"Yes— I remember all that. I remember a little of the pool, I think? We had a couple shots, after that… nothing. You didn't come? "
"It was already nearly 2 in the morning, I just made Patrick promise that you guys were not going to leave the hotel and then I went back to our room. And by the looks of it," Andy's eyes swept across the room "I'm glad I called it early. Who the fuck are these people? Where is Patrick? He never came to turn in last night. I assumed he caved and crashed over here despite all the huffing he was doing about you guys staying in separate rooms before the wedding.”
"He’s not with us… I'll call him right now. If he was with us last night he’s probably still knocked out. Dude sleeps like a rock." Pete pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear, the dial tone ringing to no avail. "Damn it— no answer. Everybody check your phones, make sure he didn’t call or leave a text. Maybe he got breakfast or something.”
Gabe pulled the inner linings of his pockets out. "I don’t know where my phone is. Can someone call it?"
Joe went to grab his phone out and his hands grazed something foreign in his pocket. No messages on the phone, no ringing from Gabe’s phone, so he turned his attention to the crumpled paper that was with his phone.
"A RECEIPT FOR A $2000 TATTOO??" Joe yelled. "Where— ? Who—?" He didn't see anything new on his arms or legs as he inspected. He started to think maybe he paid for someone else's ink until he noticed something dark peeking at the edge of his v neck. Branded across the top of his chest in thick black was the word TROHMANIA. A yell involuntarily escaped. "AHHH— MARIE IS GOING TO FUCKING KILL ME."
Pete tried biting his lip to keep from laughing, Gabe was already growing red in the face from cackling so hard; Andy just stood there, mouth agape at a complete loss for words.
“Dude, you way over paid for that,” Andy spoke out as he snapped out of his stupor.
"THIS ISN'T FUCKING FUNNY YOU BASTARDS. THIS SHIT IS PERMANENT! FUUUCK!"
One of the sleeping randos stirred from their sleep. "Hey, can you shut up? I'm trying to sleep… " .
"NO, GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE YOU JAGOFFS. ALL OF YOU. NOW!!"
"Dang man… okay, sorry." It must have clicked to the dude that the party was long over. Slowly the stray party goers made their way out one by one.
Pete caved and doubled over laughing until tears glistened at the corner of his eyes. Before they shut the door Pete added, "Hey, if anyone is missing their car keys, I'm leaving them on the counter."
The moment was cut short with Pete's phone going off, Patrick's caller ID flashing across. "Oh thank god." Relief flooded his face as he answered and placed the call on speaker. "Patrick, where—"
"Bring me my car, my money, and the guitar or the pretty boy gets it." The voice was obviously NOT Patrick, it was deeper and a little rougher around the edges.
"Whoa whoa whoa, what are you talking about? Wait— you have Patrick? DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HIM. What—"
"The car. The money. The guitar. 2 pm at Desert City Junkyard. I'll know if you bring the cops."
"Hold on— I don't know what the fuck you’re talking about, we don’t have shi— Dammit, he hung up." He immediately tried calling back, once, twice, three times before Pete started hyperventilating as it went directly to voicemail each time.
"Pete, hey, breathe. We're going to figure this out and get him back. Let's not let panic take over."
"DON'T PANIC?? We don't remember dick from last night! Patrick and I are supposed to get married tomorrow; we were supposed head back for our dinner rehearsal tonight, now he's being held hostage by who the fuck knows, and I'm NOT supposed to panic??"
"No—yes—look, we need to think logically and stay focused in order to figure this shit out. What about the car keys you found earlier? Your drunk asses probably accidentally took this guy’s car; maybe the other stuff is in here somewhere." Andy motioned to the phone. "I’m going to have a look around. You guys check for pictures on your phones, maybe it'll show clues about what the hell that dude is talking about."
Gabe's phone was still MIA. Pete had nothing on his, by some miracle Joe’s camera roll was filled with a chunk of unfamiliar, mostly either blurry or completely black pictures as he shuffled through them. The first one that was actually usable was taken of Gabe at what looked like some sort of cabaret dancing with a tall brunette man in a feathered mask and sequined outfit. Pete noticed a twinkle in picture-Gabe’s eyes, when he looked back up at current-Gabe he looked terrified.
Joe jumped up excitedly and pointed at the little black and white disc in Mr. Feather’s fingers. “There! The chip! Gabe’s mystery man might know where the money is.”
“But where and who is the mystery man?”
The next usable photo was a selfie of Joe sitting in a tattoo chair, thumbs up, with the artist busy at work on his chest. In the background, a lanky man was sitting in Gabe’s lap, both laughing. More importantly, Patrick was even farther in the background looking at something at another artist’s station with a light wood grain guitar and an almost marbly pick guard strapped to his back.
Pete jumped excitedly while he exclaimed, "There's Patrick, and look, that has to be the guitar that asshole is talking about."
“Joe— the receipt, it should have the address of the tattoo parlor!” Andy pointed out.
Joe uncrumpled the receipt, sure enough the address was typed at the top under the logo House of Wolves Tattoo and Piercing.
“Alright guys, grab a dog. Let’s go get our groom back.”